


Honor in Minas Tirith

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Domestic, Interspecies, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:01:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo is pregnant with Boromir's child. Boromir is unattentive and King Elessar is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor in Minas Tirith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilybaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybaggins/gifts).



Before Frodo opened his eyes, he struggled to orient himself. It was daylight, he could tell by the sunny yellow light he perceived through his eyelids.

 

Oh, I've overslept and I promised the tailor I would talk to the King…

 

He opened his eyes then. He gazed upon the ornate window arches, the sun-streaked walls, the soothing paintings. He recognized the Houses of Healing – oh, he had spent plenty of time in here, and had hoped never again to see the inside of this room, as soothing and lovely as it was.

 

But why was he not at home, in the Captain of the Guard's cottage that he shared with Boromir.

 

It all rushed back to him -- the nausea that clutched at him as he stumbled down the cracked stone road in the lower city. He had grown dizzy and fallen into darkness.

 

He shifted under the covers, and groaned as a wave of nausea overcame him. He clutched at his belly, worrying. Such a fall might have caused more harm than he thought. Oh, he should have swallowed his pride and asked for a guard escort. A bandage had been put on his brow, and it stung and burned.

 

Aragorn entered, smiling, although his eyes looked worried. "I see you have awakened, my friend."

 

"What happened?" Frodo's voice sounded weak in his own ears. "How did I get here?" He rubbed his belly, shivering. "Do you know…? Am I…all right?"

 

Aragorn sighed and sat on the edge of a stool beside the bed. "A guard saw you fall in the street and he carried you here. You remember nothing?"

 

Frodo shook his head with a shaky smile. He was still so dizzy. He touched the bandage on his head. "I cut myself."

 

"Yes, in the fall, you hit your head on a loose stone. You're lucky. Very lucky." Aragorn's gray eyes narrowed. "You should not have been walking about, alone. Not in your condition."

 

Frodo sighed. "I know. I should get home or Boromir will worry." He wished that were so, but he had to admit that Boromir would likely not notice him missing for a good while. Lately, Boromir seemed to take little interest in the hobbit that he had so passionately given his heart.

 

Aragorn met Frodo's gaze. "You have not told him yet?"

 

Frodo looked down at his hands. Many a time he had taken a breath, poised to tell Boromir, but he simply had not been able to. Boromir was a practical man, not taken to Elvish fancy. And he had recently confessed to Frodo that one of the reasons he was glad he had taken up with Frodo was that children were not possible. He had no need of them for purpose of heirs, since his brother had taken over duties of Prince of Ithilien.

 

And now he had been proven wrong.

 

Aragorn sighed. "Are you worried he will think it unnatural?"

 

Frodo offered the King a wan smile. "Well, is it not?"

 

"There is much that even the Wise could not have predicted about the affects of the Ring. Boromir loves you, Frodo. He…you should have seen him, nearly mad with grief when you were brought from Mordor, close to death and ravaged by your journey."

 

"Was he?" Frodo smiled hopefully. He knew there had been a time, perhaps a year ago, perhaps two, when Boromir, upon hearing that his darling had fainted in the streets, would have dropped all duties to run to the Houses of Healing, full of concern and affection. Surely he had heard word by now. Word would have spread like fire through the guard, that the lovely Ringbearer had fainted in the lower parts of Minas Tirith. The guard who had found him would surely have bragged to any and all who would listen.

 

"You must tell him soon," Aragorn said. "I am concerned for you. I have told you that this will not be an easy birth and I will not always be here. Next week, I must journey to Harad and I do not know how long I shall be gone."

 

"I will tell him." Frodo closed his eyes, suddenly weary. Especially weary at the idea of telling Boromir.

 

Aragorn placed a cool cloth on Frodo's brow. "Rest now."

 

 

"I've not much time to stay, Frodo," Boromir said, hanging his cloak and removing his boots. "So let us dine quickly and then I must return to duty. We are training a new and younger group of soldiers." He chuckled. "These young men have lived in fear for so long that they are quite easy to train—what happened to your brow?"

 

Frodo touched the bandage. "Oh." He looked at the ground. "It is nothing. I fell."

 

"Be careful then," Boromir said, rather indifferently.

 

Frodo had prepared himself to tell Boromir. Far better to rid himself of the burden, to lay it on Boromir's broad shoulders. Despite his stubborn courage in front of Aragorn, he was frightened by what had happened to his body and he wanted his lover to know.

 

 

Not much later, they sat together at the table. Boromir dipped a large chunk of bread into the thick stew that their cook had prepared.

 

"Did you already eat?"

 

"I am not much hungry."

 

Boromir raised his eyebrows. "That's certainly a change."

 

"Boromir…I must tell you something."

 

Boromir held the bread to his lips, pausing. "What is it?"

 

"I…" Frodo's throat closed, and he found he had no idea how to tell him. "I fainted today. While walking in the city. That is how I got this cut."

 

Boromir continued to eat. "You must be more careful then. The sun is much hotter in this part of the world than you are accustomed to."

 

Frodo swallowed, annoyed. "Surely not more so than Mordor." He did not like to remind Boromir of his valor, but there were times when Boromir seemed to have forgotten that he was not some helpless halfling to protect.

 

"Are you well?" Boromir asked, cleverly ignoring Frodo's icy comment.

 

"Yes…well, not exactly. Well, I mean—"

 

Boromir set down his bread and gave his full attention to Frodo. "What is it? Have you talked to the King?"

 

"The Ring, well, it did things to me…It changed me."

 

"Are your old wounds troubling you? I shall have a warden from the Houses of Healing come and sit with you. Perhaps it is not well for you to be alone for so long."

 

Frodo blushed. It was nice at last to have some genuine concern from Boromir. "Oh…it is not exactly that…it is only…" He took a deep breath. "I mean to say that the Ring did more than hurt me."

 

Boromir took Frodo's hand. "If your wounds are troubling you and your mind is uneasy, I shall be glad to hold you tonight upon my return and listen to you unburden your heart. But now I must go. Before I go, I shall heat you some tea. Settle in quietly with one of your books and enjoy the evening. I'll stir the embers so you shall have a roasting fire in the hearth—"

 

Frodo sprang to his feet. "Do not speak to me like a pampered child to be indulged at a whim. My wounds are not troubling me and I do not wish to spend a night easing my heart to you. The Ring did something to me. _You_ did something to me. I am with…child."

 

Boromir began to laugh. "Oh, Frodo, I adore you so. You jest, even while angry."

 

Frodo stared at him in silent fury for a moment before saying, "do you think I would jest about something like this?" Frodo pulled his shirt up to reveal the slight rounding of his belly.

 

Boromir's laughter faded and he looked uncertain. "You are not jesting?"

 

"No…not a jest. You can ask Aragorn."

 

"Our King knows about this?" Boromir looked astonished for a moment before sighing and turning away.

 

"The Ring…"

 

"Fie on the Ring," Boromir said in sudden anger, grabbing Frodo's upper arms. "How did this happen? Is it…is it even mine?"

 

Frodo stumbled backward, out of Boromir's grip, as if the Man had struck him. He felt all the color drain from his cheeks. "Pardon me?"

 

"I do not mean another man, of course. Nay, Frodo," He grasped Frodo's shoulder. "Do not look at me with such ire. I mean only that if the Ring did this to you, then perhaps…"

 

"It's yours," Frodo said coldly, pulling away from him. "It's yours…But I now begin to regret that it is." He did not mean this, of course, but he wanted to hurt Boromir for…well, for not taking him in his arms and holding him and being glad-hearted.

 

Boromir let out a grim laugh. "Frodo, let us think for a moment. If it is indeed mine, then it surely cannot survive. You are…you are…" He waved his hand at Frodo. "Firstly, you are not a maid." He chuckled a little, but Frodo forgave him for it because it was nervous laughter, not done in mirth. "And we are too different in size. The babe will be too large –" He looked at Frodo in alarm. "Has the King considered this?"

 

"Yes," Frodo said. "It is a risk." And then he added rather bitterly, "But for your convenience, you shall not need to endure hours and hours of waiting for me to give birth. Aragorn will simply slice me open like a beast and pull it out. And if he determines that it is not a giant, burning Eye, you can decide if he is indeed yours."

 

Boromir's face paled. "You need not attack me." He took Frodo's hands in his. "It is only that you have had time to think about this already, but this comes as a shock for me. Your health is already poor. I cannot imagine what effect this unnatural child bearing will have on you." He took a deep breath. "I know I have not been … I know that you have found me lacking as of late. But I love you, Frodo. I need you. You must find a way to rid yourself of this. I think this thing…" Frodo did not like the way his mouth twisted in distaste, "especially if wrought by the Ring…will kill you in great pain and misery and I cannot sit idly by and allow it to happen. I shall send scouts into the lower parts of the cities to where there are midwives who know these arts."

 

Frodo shook his head numbly. "I am not sure that I want that," he said.

 

"I beg you at least to consider it."

 

Frodo looked up at him. There was kindness and fear in those gray eyes now, and at least Frodo could not fault him for being callous now.

 

 

Boromir had promised that there would be very little pain, just slight cramping, so Frodo tried to be brave. He had faced much worse, after all.

 

Just a little cramping, that was it, Frodo said, cringing as a wave of agony pinched his abdomen.

 

_Think of those last days in Mordor…no water, no food, no hope…_

 

But another cramp, far more wicked, took his belly and this time he had to bite back a cry. He bit his sleeve, and sweat poured down his face. If only this could be done with quickly. Then Boromir would be loving and warm, as he had when he had first decided not to return to the Shire.

 

Frodo would tell Aragorn, of course, but it would be after it was all over, and he could make up some tale that he had just lost it. A terrible feeling of regret clutched at his throat. He felt his belly. Oh, he should not have agreed to this. A new wave of pain dug into him and this time he could not help it. He yelled, his voice hoarse.

 

"Frodo?" Boromir strode back inside the bedroom. "Has it…?"

 

Frodo breathed. "I do not want to do this…make it stop."

 

Boromir sat on a stool beside the bed and took Frodo's hand in his. "Hush." He smoothed back Frodo's curls from his damp forehead. "It will be all right. The widow said the pain would not be too bad and by nightfall, it should all be over."

 

"No…" Frodo gasped. "I do not…I…" He looked into Boromir's eyes. What had he been thinking? Boromir did not want this baby. It would cause nothing but unhappiness between them. A new wave of pain built and he writhed on the bed. A churning swirled in his stomach. He dug his head into the pillow, knowing that he was going to throw up.

 

"Oh, Frodo,' Boromir said at the edge of the bed, patting his back, rubbing. "I am sorry for the pain. I promise you, it will be over soon."

 

Frodo's stomach hitched, which sent sheer pain over his belly. He vomited on the sheets, his eyes tightly closed, nauseated by the coppery smell of it.

 

"Oh…Frodo?" Boromir's voice became alarmed, which ripped Frodo's eyes open. He gasped when he saw the sticky red on the sheets.

 

Frodo wiped his bloody mouth on his sleeve, trembling. "What is this?" he asked, turning to Boromir in accusation. "What have you given me?" A sharp, excruciating pain took his stomach, cutting his question off, and he screamed this time. Never had he felt this kind of pain. He had suffered and ached, and the Enemy's blade had been cold and merciless, but nothing like this sharp, stabbing pain. He was dying. He knew it now. Boromir had given him the wrong herb and it was poison and it had killed him.

 

Boromir's face had paled with fear, and he rushed out of the room.

 

_He's left me…left me…_

 

"Aragorn!" Frodo moaned, and he bit his lip because Aragorn would scorn him, would hate him if he knew what he had done. No, he would never hate the Ringbearer, this Frodo knew. But he would not understand. He would hold him at an aloof distance. He would retract his warm friendship. No, he couldn't bear it –

 

He yelled again. Boromir rushed back to him and climbed onto the bed. His warrior demeanor had changed, and now he trembled with remorse and fear, cradling Frodo in his arms. "I am sorry…I am so sorry." He stroked Frodo's hair. "I've sent for the King. Something is wrong…it was not supposed to give you this pain."

 

"What…?…No…" Frodo whispered, but another bout of nausea took his stomach. He shuddered from the pain. So far he felt no blood between his legs. Perhaps Aragorn would bring something to stop this. If he did, Frodo would have the baby. He would not give it up. And fie on Boromir, if he did not like it. "What did you do to me?" he whispered.

 

Boromir kissed Frodo's brow, smoothing back his curls. "She said no pain…she said it would be quick…" Boromir's hands were gentle as he worried with Frodo's curls. "I shall make this up to you…just pull through this for me. I love you." He kissed Frodo's sweaty brow again and again.

 

Frodo sank into a delirious dream in which he was deep in a rank cavern, sticky with web. He could smell the foul blood of orcs, could feel throbbing pain where Shelob had stung him…it was so dark and there was this terrible thudding through him, and Aragorn…where was Aragorn?

 

"…happened?"

 

Frodo's eyes flew open, and there was more pain than before, and he didn't think it was possible. Waves of horrible, stabbing pain.

 

Aragorn's hand was on his brow.

 

"Boromir, what has happened? What have you done?" His eyes were dangerously hard as he glared at Boromir.

 

"My King, I went to the lower city. I was told it would be almost painless –"

 

"To rid yourself of the baby?" Aragorn asked Frodo. His gaze was hard, and Frodo could not bear Aragorn's anger at him, not now. He choked and turned his head away, burying it in the pillow. The pain was far better than Aragorn's anger.

 

"Yes," Boromir said briskly. "We both decided it was the best thing to do—"

 

"How much did he swallow?"

 

"The widow said three spoonfuls."

 

"Three spoonfuls? That amount could kill even a woman of our kind who is small. One would have been enough for Frodo – and still—it is a dangerous herb—"

 

Boromir's face whitened still more. Never had Frodo seen him so torn apart, not even when he had learned of his father's death at the end of the war.

 

Aragorn sat beside Frodo and took a limp hand. "Frodo," he said softly. The stern demeanor had changed to pity. "What I will do to you will cause you pain."

 

Frodo almost laughed. Pain? Was it possible for there to be more pain?

 

"Can you save the baby?" Frodo whispered. "I did not want to rid myself of it."

 

Aragorn's face flickered with anger as he glanced at Boromir. "We shall see." He pumped at Frodo's stomach while Boromir paced like a starving tiger. Frodo vomited again and again, and now grainy herbs came out with the vomit. After a time, Aragorn made Frodo swallow something else.

 

"There, now." Aragorn took Frodo's hand. "I shall stay with you tonight, dear friend. If you lose the baby, it will be tonight. Otherwise, we can hope that we were able to save it."

 

"Thank you." Frodo closed his eyes.

 

When Frodo woke the next morning, his stomach twisted still with nausea, and he felt between his legs, but the pains had stopped. There was no blood. He smiled and sighed with relief.

 

Aragorn stirred from where he had slept on the chair. That the King himself should sleep on a chair and wait for him to awake was far too much, even for the Ringbearer. Frodo flushed.

 

"You didn't have to stay," he whispered.

 

"Yes, yes I did. I did not want to rest until I could be sure that you passed out of danger."

 

"Have I?" Frodo asked.

 

"You have for the time. Now…" And Aragorn's eyes darkened with soberness. "Do you or do you not want this babe?"

 

"I do…" Frodo glanced toward the door. "But…"

 

"Boromir does not?" Aragorn asked gently.

 

Frodo clenched his jaw. "He thinks it unnatural."

 

"And he was willing to put your life at risk. Nay, do not look at me like that, Frodo. I know he did not wish you harm, but if you were…if the babe was mine, well, I know that I should never take such a risk with one that I loved."

 

Frodo flushed. "He does not always think."

 

"You must heed my advice. I want you in bed for the next week. You are not to get out of bed, you are not to walk about. You are to do nothing but rest. I will excuse Boromir from duty for the next week so that he can stay here with you and give you the care you need. Do you understand?"

 

"Yes, Strider." Frodo grinned.

 

Aragorn smiled then, relieved to see the teasing light in Frodo's eyes.

 

 

 

***

 

 

Frodo strained to pull his breeches closed. Oh, dear. As far as he stretched, the button simply would not reach. His cheeks heated. He tried once again, and this time he strained so far that the button popped right off.

 

"Fiddlesticks!"

 

"What is it?" Boromir asked as he tugged his boots on.

 

"One of my buttons has fallen off." Still, he could not help a grin as he rubbed his hand over his belly. It had rounded as if overnight.

 

"It shouldn't be a hardship to mend."

 

"Boromir, look!" Frodo stood and smoothed his clothing over his belly. He smiled with radiant happiness, all at once blissfully happy for the being inside him.

 

"Oh," Boromir said, raising his brows. "It appears that you have overindulged last night, my hobbit. All those rich meats and sauces--"

 

Frodo glared at him. "Look carefully. It is the baby."

 

Boromir looked closely this time. "Oh." And he looked away, almost as if he were afraid to look on it too much. "How pleasant. Oh, Frodo. I would beg your assistance with something today."

 

"Certainly," Frodo swallowed, stung by Boromir's indifference to the baby.

 

"I need you to ride with me to the Citadel and then ride my horse back here." Frodo opened his eyes wide with alarm, and Boromir smiled. "Nay, do not look at me with such alarm. Fin is a gentle horse and I promise she will not allow you to fall."

 

Truth be told, Frodo was terrified to ride a horse, especially alone. They were too tall, and his legs were simply too short to fully straddle them, and he knew riding in his condition was not advised. Why would Boromir not have considered that? Again, he felt stung inside, as if Boromir were trying far too hard to ignore Frodo's condition, even at the expense of his health.

 

"Fin knows her business," Boromir said softly. "She'll not let you fall. If you are truly uncomfortable, then I can send one of my guards back with the horse."

 

"No…" Frodo swallowed, patting his belly again. "No, it is all right. It is but a short distance. I can manage."

 

Once they reached the Citadel, Frodo stayed on the horse as Boromir dismounted. Frodo's legs felt stretched out and already his backside felt bruised. Boromir turned the horse around for him. "All right?" he asked, patting Frodo's knee. "She practically knows her way home."

 

"Boromir!"

 

Frodo looked up to see Aragorn striding toward them, his face grim. The other guards stood straight as their King approached.

 

"What are you doing, Frodo?" Aragorn demanded.

 

"Boromir needs me to take her home. It's a short ride. It is no matter."

 

Aragorn gave Boromir a stern glance before turning his attention back to Frodo. "You should not be on that horse alone. It is dangerous for you, particularly if you have a fall. I shall send another guard with you to guide the horse."

 

Frodo could not meet Boromir's eyes, but he sat still as another guard mounted the horse behind him.

 

"Frodo, I shall want a word with you later." Aragorn's gaze was grim, and Frodo's heart sank, just a little.

 

 

When Frodo was gone, Aragorn turned to Boromir. "Boromir, it is no secret to me that you do not want this babe."

 

"My King, I—"

 

Aragorn waved him to silence. "All the same, the babe is coming. What will you do?"

 

Boromir said nothing for several moments. Then at last he said, "It is true, my King. I wish he had rid himself of it. It is only that I fear for his health and truthfully, though I would never tell him this, I am revolted by it. I do not trust that it is not some last strike of the Enemy."

 

"You love Frodo, do you not?" Aragorn asked. "I must believe that you love Frodo, or else you would never have allowed him to give up his chance to leave Middle Earth."

 

"I love him."

 

"Then you must take better care. He trusts you and loves you. And he knows already that you find it revolting. Do you wish this burden on his heart?"

 

"Nay," Boromir said. "Nay." But he looked away and would say no more.

 

 

 

Frodo paced. Aragorn was expected for tea. Oh, he had looked so stern and unhappy and he would have much to say, especially when he found out that Frodo was not taking the herbs that he had recommended he take. It was only that he had a terror of putting any herbs in his mouth after what had happened when he had almost lost the baby. Frodo tried to stretch the button of his breeches again, but it simply wouldn't stretch. He untucked his shirt and let it hang out in a sloppy manner over his unbuttoned breeches. It would have to do for now. He didn't know why it mattered so much to him what Aragorn thought of how he looked. He flushed. No, it shouldn't matter at all. Funny how he didn't seem to mind Boromir seeing him in a tousled state but not Aragorn. He dared not think too hard about this, but he knew that Aragorn's concern for him and his acceptance of his unborn baby warmed him on a deep level.

 

Aragorn came with little fanfare, not accompanied by any guards, and dressed in his old ranger garb.

 

"Good afternoon, Frodo."

 

"Come in. I've got tea brewing. Would you like some?"

 

"I cannot stay long," Aragorn said. "But I'd like to speak frankly to you."

 

Frodo fidgeted with the end of his untucked shirt. "Oh, Aragorn, I know I shouldn't have ridden the horse today. It was unwise. But I thought it was only a short distance."

 

Aragorn settled on the sofa so that he was now eye to eye with Frodo. "It is not just that. I must know. How has Boromir treated you as of late? And you should be off your feet. They look swollen. Does Boromir not rub them for you?"

 

Frodo flushed deeply. "Boromir is rarely here. But I imagine that you know this since it is you who keeps him occupied."

 

"Nay, Frodo," Aragorn said. "I do not keep him late. I suspect he enjoys the company of his men the joys of a tavern." He shook his head. "Though I cannot imagine anyone not being eager to come home to you, my friend."

 

Frodo flushed and hid a smile. "You mustn't say such things, my King."

 

Aragorn smiled. "And come…sit down on the sofa. I will rub your feet."

 

Frodo obeyed him, his heart thudding happily in his chest as Aragorn took one of his feet and massaged, digging his fingers in deeply. Frodo leaned back, closing his eyes. If he were a cat, he would be purring.

 

"Yes, Boromir needs to take better care of you," Aragorn said.

 

"He is rather overwhelmed, I fear," Frodo said.

 

"It is not an excuse. If he loves you, then nothing should stop him from – " Aragorn laughed suddenly and stopped rubbing Frodo's foot long enough to lift Frodo's shirt. "You can no longer button your breeches?"

 

Frodo's face was so hot that he could not meet Aragorn's eyes. "Aragorn!" Aragorn held a large hand over Frodo's belly and laughed again. "Soon we should be able to feel the kicking. What say you?"

 

Frodo grinned. "This still does not solve the issue of my not being able to button my breeches."

 

"I shall send a seamstress to help you with clothing. I insist that you feel no more discomfort than is necessary."

 

Frodo threw his arms around Aragorn and squeezed. He smelled so good, always, like leather and soap. For a moment his groin warmed a bit, and he felt guilty, terribly guilty, for wishing desperately that it was Aragorn who lived here and that it was Aragorn's baby he bore.

 

 

***

 

 

"You'll soon feel some pressure. Now…I need you to relax. Can you do that for me?"

 

Frodo sighed, but his knees tensed. Oh, this bloated, heavy feeling in his belly and no real sign of movement. He had a terrible feeling that perhaps the herbs Boromir had given him had killed the babe, despite what Aragorn had said, leaving it nothing more than a dead growth.

 

_Would it have possibly grown then, you fool? I think not…_

 

Aragorn smiled encouragingly. "Do not look so fretful. It will all be over soon."

 

"Must you…must you tie my feet in these ridiculous…stirrups? I am a hobbit, not a horse lord from Rohan."

 

Aragorn laughed. "I know it is undignified, but it keeps your feet just the right width apart. Now…relax. Wait. Move up just a bit." Aragorn grabbed Frodo's hips and scooted his bottom farther down the narrow examining bed. There was this one room in the Houses of Healing that was not at all comfortable. It was clean, far too clean, and the bed was flat and not at all comfortable. Its purpose was not for resting but for examining. Nearby were _things_ that Frodo did not know what they were. They looked shiny and ominous – uncomfortable at best and painful at worst.

 

"All right then." Aragorn prodded on his swollen belly from all directions. "Now, you will feel some pressure as I feel inside you."

 

There was a bit of pain – pressure again as Aragorn pressed into him from the inside. "As I thought…you have developed a birth canal."

 

Frodo laughed, his cheeks growing hot. "Pardon me? And I must say, you do not sound very surprised."

 

"I am glad to see it," Aragorn said. "It means that you will be able to birth naturally, without me having to cut into you, which is far more dangerous."

 

Frodo flinched. However would he endure the childbirth pangs? Surely they were even worse than what he had felt when he had nearly lost the baby. He remembered hours of yelling and screaming in Brandy Hall when various female relations had given birth.

 

Aragorn picked up a large instrument that looked like a pair of tongs.

 

"What are you doing?" Frodo demanded.

 

"I wish to see something. Please continue to relax. These are called forceps. They are used when ladies are not progressing as they might during birth. It widens their canal and allows the babe room to come out. I am fitting this to see if it is possible to use with your new opening."

 

The cold metal made Frodo flinch and he shivered all over.

 

"I am sorry. It is cold. I beg your pardon for that."

 

Aragorn's hand slid up further, probing with long, strong fingers. Finally, he pulled out and pushed on Frodo's abdomen. He took a string and wrapped it around Frodo's belly. "I'm measuring how big you are. Every month I'll do that and it will be one way to determine just how big this babe is. It looks like we're about at five months, taking into account your size. I expect you to birth early because of the babe's size, so I guess it will be in three months or so. – "

 

"Boromir comes from a family of large, strapping warriors. I'm a little worried, truth be told."

 

"Fear not. In nature the babe's size accommodates the bearer."

 

Frodo laughed, and he did feel more relieved. "So he will be more hobbity?"

 

"It is likely."

 

"I think Boromir would likely prefer a big, blustering boy."

 

Frodo felt sad suddenly because in reality, he knew Boromir wanted nothing to do with the baby, and as of late, he had gone out of his way to avoid anything to do with the topic. And he was hardly home.

 

Aragorn put his hand on Frodo's brow. "Whether girl or boy, hobbit or man, he will be precious. Fear not. I felt the babe move when I was inside."

 

"You did?" Frodo's face relaxed into utter relief. "Oh, you don't know how good this makes me feel." He threw his arms around Aragorn, and even in this overly clean room, it was fully forgotten that stiff formalities of Ringbearer and King – and they were just dear, dear friends. Frodo had another moment of fierce wistful dreaming – what if it were Aragorn who had fathered the babe, if it was Aragorn who lived with him – loving him, loving the babe.

 

He snuggled into Aragorn's chest, breathing in his clean, soapy scent.

 

"Aragorn," he finally said.

 

Aragorn pulled away, and Frodo hoped it was not his imagination but perhaps he seemed reluctant to release him. "Yes?"

 

 

"Untie my feet please."

 

 

***

 

Frodo leaned against the stone wall of the alley, clutching his belly. Rain poured down, soaking his clothing, and he shivered violently. Pain ripped over his abdomen again, and he bit back a cry. He was far from aid, far from even any of the guards of the Citadel. He had seen nobody at all in the hours since he had slipped into the lowest level of the city, determined to be alone, determined that Boromir never find him again.

 

He could not believe what he had seen, heard. He slid down the wall until he sat in the mud, still clutching his belly, groaning.

 

He had arrived home far earlier than expected, tired from being on his aching feet, looking forward to lying on the sofa, perhaps begging a foot rub from Boromir. And he had heard a low chuckle from the bedroom. He had crept on quiet hobbit feet, still silent despite his enormous burden, and when he had peered through the door, what he had seen had been worse than a blow to his swollen belly. Far worse.

 

Boromir was in bed with a young man, barely whiskered. Boromir stroked his face, just as he had once stroked Frodo's with such affection that Frodo had not seen in weeks. His eyes were lit up with affection.

 

"But we have no future together, dear sir," the young man said.

 

"Do not fear. I think we shall."

 

"But the Ringbearer…do you not honor him?"

 

"He is a strange creature to me now," Boromir's voice had cut into Frodo, far worse than any blade of the Enemy ever had. "I do not fathom the creature that he will bear. I think the King will take care of him."

 

"Do halflings…are they much like men?" the young man asked.

 

"Nay….Halflings are new and strange creatures, and Frodo is no exception. I love him and I always shall, but ever since he has grown this…thing inside, I've not looked at him the same way."

 

"It is rather repulsive, is it not? A male of his kind bearing a child like a lady?"

 

"It's some magic of the Enemy and I do not fully trust it," Boromir said. "I wished him to rid himself of it, but that did not go well. In the end, he wanted it. I do not. I shall care for it because I am an honorable man but I do not think I shall be able to look at it as my child."

 

Frodo had been unable to bear more. He had backed away from the door, holding his hand over his mouth. All thoughts of relaxing fled from him. All thoughts of basking in Boromir's adoration were gone – forever, and this sliced at Frodo's heart. He pushed out the door, not caring if he let it slam.

 

He could barely breathe, but he ran. He tripped and fell a few times, but he ran until sweat poured down his back and he was forced to stop or pass out in the humid pre-storm air.

 

And here he was in the lowest part of the city, in a dark and dank alley with no help in sight. And another pain took him. The muddy water seeped through his clothing. It had smeared over his crisp linen shirt, but he had no choice but to lie down. The pain was bad now. Another contraction grew. And another. He would have to yell for help or he would end up birthing in this alley with nobody to help.

 

"Help!" He cried out. "Please…somebody help me!"

 

On the next pain, he clutched his belly and rolled to his side, squirming, groaning until it faded and he was left gasping for breath. Again he cried out for help. And again. Nobody came.

 

***

 

"Frodo!" Frodo opened his eyes in a delirium of shivering pain. Aragorn's face was above him, white with worry, but no – it had to be dream. There was simply no way that he could be there in actuality.

 

"…here?" he managed. "How?"

 

"Frodo…"

 

Aragorn pulled down Frodo's breeches and immediately felt over Frodo's buttocks, inside. His huge hands were warm and competent. "I cannot move you," he said. "I cannot put you on a horse and risk further harm to you or the babe."

 

He lifted Frodo in his arms and barked a command to two guards. The guards began knocking on doors. At the first cottage, a young man answered.

 

"Make way for the King." And the soldiers pushed into the home of a bewildered young man and his wife. "Make ready your bed. The King's friend is ready to birth."

 

The man and woman were too bewildered to do anything but obey. They scrambled to ready their bed, and they lit a fire in the hearth.

 

Aragorn put Frodo on the bed and removed his muddy clothing. He covered him securely with blankets so he would stop shivering from the wet and cold.

 

Frodo scarcely noticed with the pain burning him. A new pain built in his lower back, grew and grew until he could not hold back a cry.

 

"Hold on, Frodo," Aragorn said, clutching his hand during the pain.

 

"Boromir!" Frodo cried, even though he hated himself for uttering it, hated himself because Boromir was repulsed by him and this baby, thought him unnatural, thought the babe was some trick of the Enemy.

 

"I shall send for him," Aragorn said curtly.

 

"No, no, no," Frodo groaned, but it did not come out right. He dug his face into the pillow. Boromir did not want him. Boromir wanted nothing to do with him. But it was too late. A new pain was building and he could take it back.

 

Aragorn lifted his right leg and tied it to the post. His backside was almost to the edge of the bed. He took his left leg and tied it to the next post. It was the closest to stirrups that Aragorn could pull together in this unfamiliar bed.

 

"Now you're going to have to push much harder." Aragorn not brought the forceps in his hurry to find Frodo, but he used his hands now to widen the canal, helping the babe. The baby's head was large and Frodo felt a ripping and tearing, and deep cold pain that was different from the contractions that had already taken him for hours and hours.

 

At last the baby slid out in a gush of hot blood. Frodo hardly noticed the cramping in his belly as the tiny babe was lifted. Aragorn washed him and patted his back, and he mewled.

 

Aragorn wrapped the baby up and handed him to the nearest guard, who held it with bemused care. Then he massaged Frodo's stomach, coaxing, working with the cramping. "The placenta must come out. Here it comes…fear not, you'll not be in pain much longer, Frodo."

 

The cramping continued, although not nearly as badly as before, and Frodo was already exhausted. He felt blood pool between his thighs and in his blur, saw Aragorn rushed about, gathering items from the drawer of a nearby dresser. He then rushed to the hearth and stuck something in the fire for a moment. Frodo saw now that he had needle and thread.

 

"What are you doing?" he asked in alarm.

 

"You've torn during the birth and you are bleeding. Hold on, Frodo. This should be easy compared to what you have already endured."

 

Frodo bit his lip, cringing against the pricking of the needle as Aragorn stitched the torn skin. He let out delicate gasps at times, trying not to show Aragorn that he could possibly still be in pain. "The baby…"

 

Aragorn grinned while he continued to stitch. "He, and yes, it is a he, appears to be healthy."

 

"Oh…" Frodo smiled and closed his eyes. "May I hold him?"

 

"In a moment. What will you name him?"

 

"I had thought to name him Boromir." Frodo's smile faded, and Aragorn looked at him in grim understanding. So he knew. Of course he must have wondered why Boromir never came. "But he…he never came, did he?"

 

"He did. But he did not stay." Aragorn looked grim when he spoke again, "I will send him away, Frodo. I will send him to duties in a distant land. You need never again set eyes on him if you choose."

 

"You need not punish him," Frodo said. "I wish to speak to him again. A last time."

 

"Very well," Aragorn said, taking Frodo's hand. "But I will help you care for this babe, Frodo Baggins, for so long as I shall live."

 

Frodo's eyes filled with weary tears, and he smiled. "Estel. I think I shall name him Estel, if that is all right with the King?"

 

And Aragorn kissed him then. First on the brow, but Frodo tilted his head and their lips met, and then they kissed in earnest, and Boromir's betrayal ceased to cause an ache to his heart.

 

***

 

Frodo ached, oh how he ached. Every time he moved, there was new pain – in his back, in his belly, in his shoulders, everywhere it seemed. But he was too exhausted to feel it. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he knew that Aragorn would be back soon with Estel and he did not want to have fallen asleep before he held him. He had to chuckle to himself, wondering what the people whose cottage they had taken over were doing now. The guards had given them coins and instructions to stay at the nearest inn for a few days until the Ringbearer was fit to be carried back to his home. The pillows were very soft and he dozed pleasantly, so glad the cramping was done. Some blood seeped between his legs, but Aragorn had said that it was normal and not to worry.

 

Oh, his dear, dear Aragorn. He smiled warmly, remembering their kiss.

 

But when he thought about Boromir, his throat closed up. Boromir had betrayed him by bedding another and by speaking so scornfully of Frodo and the coming child. And he had come but had not stayed. Frodo might easily have perished in childbirth and he never would have had a chance to say his farewells. Even if Boromir should come now and beg his pardon, it should never be enough.

 

Frodo heard footsteps and a gentle mewling, and in Aragorn came, smiling, holding a bundle. Frodo felt so terribly weak, but his heart burst with love, and he wanted nothing more than to cradle the tiny baby and hold him to his heart forever. He shifted and felt more blood between his thighs, but he would not speak of it yet, not until he had had a chance to hold the baby.

 

"You have not fallen asleep?" Aragorn asked with a teasing smile.

 

"You jest surely…How could I? Oh, Aragorn let me hold him!"

 

"Just for a little while, and then I must examine you, make certain you are not bleeding more than is usual."

 

Frodo held out his arms and Aragorn gently set the baby in them. Frodo held his breath, awed by the baby in his arms, eyes scrunched tight shut, his rosy cheeks, his tufts of dark hair, his tiny fists in balls. He looked up at Aragorn. "He's so precious." He felt another surge of vile anger toward Boromir, that he had wanted to so casually get rid of the baby.

 

"Good riddance," he whispered.

 

"Pardon?" Aragorn asked.

 

"Oh. Nothing." Frodo smiled. "Isn't he the most precious thing you've ever seen?"

 

Aragorn nodded. "Yes. Yes, it is."

 

 

END


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